Let's be adults about this. “Grain-free” is on everything now, in the same font as “artisan” and “wellness,” and a healthy part of you suspects it's a bit of theatre. Fair. So let's separate the useful part from the sticker.
What grain-free actually does
Cats are strict carnivores; dogs are carnivore-leaning. Neither evolved to run on a big load of cereal. Grains aren't poison — but corn, wheat and soy are cheap ways to pad out a recipe and bump up the carbs, and a high-carb bowl gives some pets glucose spikes that feel like hunger an hour later. Take the grains out and there's simply more room for meat.
Where the marketing gets slippery
Here's the catch nobody prints on the front: a bag can say “grain-free” and still be stuffed with potato or pea starch instead. You've swapped one filler for another and paid extra for the privilege. “Grain-free” tells you what's not there. It says nothing about what is.
The question worth asking instead
Flip the bag over. Is the first ingredient a named meat — “chicken,” not “meat derivatives”? Is fresh meat high on the list? Are there vague fillers doing the heavy lifting? That's the label that tells the truth. Grain-free is a nice-to-have; “named meat first” is the thing.
The Plennia bit
Yes, our range is grain-free — no corn, wheat or soy above trace, no dairy. But we treat that as table stakes, not a headline. The number we actually want you to look at is the fresh-meat inclusion, printed where you can find it. If a claim can't survive you reading the ingredients list, it shouldn't be on the bag.
Buy the recipe, not the adjective. Your pet can't read the front of the pack anyway — they're voting with the back.
